Lost in the Intensity
by Gamma Orionis
Summary: Bellatrix desired the Dark Lord. It was no secret to him, and he expected she was aware that he knew. Written for knowmefirst for smutty-claus 2013.


Author's Notes: Written for knowmefirst for the 2013 smutty_claus exchange.

)O(

Bellatrix desired the Dark Lord. It was no secret to him, and he expected she was aware that he knew. He could see blatant lust on her face when she looked at him during meetings, though someone not as accomplished at Legilimency as he might have mistaken it for the same awe and adoration that all his Death Eater held for him. But anyone who knew how to look even slightly below the surface could see the desire interlaced with her respect.

It was insulting, in a way. The Dark Lord was not meant to be an object of desire, not to anyone. There were, at the core, only two acceptable emotions to feel towards for the Dark Lord: fear and admiration. Bellatrix did not fear him enough, and her admiration was lacking as well, if she believed that she worthy of even _imagining_ going to bed with him.

He pondered punishment. Many an hour he spent in his chambers at night, idly stroking Nagini as she twisted around him and whispered her ideas into his ear. Bellatrix's desire was disrespect, and should be punished as such.

But how did one punish a person like Bellatrix Lestrange, who was so closely acquainted with pain that she knew how to love it in all its forms? She had received as many tortures as she had given out, and not since she was twenty years old had he ever seen her seem to suffer. That was, he supposed, his own fault – it had been he who had, in his younger and more naïve days, praised her for her ability to withstand pain, and he who had complimented her philosophy when she told him that she did not simply withstand it, but _revelled_ in it.

During the first war, he had at least been able to threaten her with forms of punishment outside of torture. Confinement had been his stand-by in those old days. Bellatrix, who could take pleasure in having the Cruciatus curse upon her, had panicked upon the thought of being locked up – he knew not whether it was claustrophobia, or only a hatred of being put away and ignored, but she had begged for mercy when he punished her by locking her in a cellar.

Azkaban had bettered her in that respect. Thirteen years of captivity had cured her of any such fears, and those thirteen years made any form of deprivation or psychological torture that he could devise pale in comparison. What could one do to punish someone who had withstood so much already?

_Why do you need her, Master? Be rid of her if she troubles you so,_ Nagini told him, and the prospect was not entirely without merit. Bellatrix had served him greatly, and achieved much on his behalf, but perhaps she had now served her purpose and it would be best to be rid of her. Everyone outstayed their usefulness eventually. He had had to kill many Death Eaters before – the culling of his followers was a necessity.

And yet, Bellatrix had not become useless. Her mind might have been damaged from Azkaban, but she was as competent as ever she had been, and even less troubled by tendencies towards compassion than she had been in the past. She was excellent in many respects – her only notable flaw as a Death Eater was her lust for him. There were men – lesser men than he – who, in his place, would not even consider that a flaw.

_It is disrespect, Master, and you should not have it. She thinks of you with no more awe or fear than a man thinks of a prostitute._

"Enough, Nagini."

Nagini said nothing more, but he turned her comment over and over in his mind.

When Bellatrix had first been taken into the Death Eaters' ranks – when she was still young and pretty, and the other Death Eaters were reckless and had not learned respect – there had been a perpetual string of rumours that she had only received the Dark Mark because she had bedded him. Bellatrix, he knew, had gloated over the whispers, no matter how false they were. It was he who had been troubled by them then, though surely the men had meant them to insult Bellatrix, not him. He would never have sold his body for a Death Eater's loyalty.

Perhaps the rumours had left a lasting impression on Bellatrix, and that was the source of her troublesome belief that she was worthy of him. He had, after all, never _told her_ that he would never touch her; perhaps the prevalence of those rumours had given her the idea that she really _was_ of some interest to him.

But that had been years and years ago; she was no longer beautiful enough to fuel tales about her sexual exploits, nor were his Death Eaters stupid enough to concoct them.

Even so, he doubted those rumours were ever far from her mind. They certainly were rarely far from his when he looked upon her and saw her looking back.

_If you are so unwilling to be rid of her, then have her and be done with it._

He looked down at Nagini, where she curled in his lap, and she looked back up at him. Facial expressions were difficult to read on snakes, where Legilimency could not be used, but he thought that she looked almost as if she was challenging him.

"Why would I do that?"

_She is a distraction. You concern yourself with her too much. Go to bed with her, and then you will realize how foolish it is to even give her a thought._

"Going to bed with her would be giving her what she wants."

_And what is wrong with giving her what she wants, if she is your favourite in so many ways? Could you not think of it as a reward?_

"I do not reward my followers by debasing myself for them."

_Very well, then go on and continue to poison your mind with thoughts of her. Let it grow into an obsession – I will not be troubled if you choose to drive yourself mad over her._

"Out," he ordered, and Nagini slithered away without protest.

He had struggled with obsessions often enough before – allowed a few to consume him, and suppressed or satisfied the others that threatened to draw his attention away from those he deemed truly important. Bellatrix was _certainly_ not worthy of obsession, not when he had the Potter boy to think of. She and her desires did not deserve the thought he was putting into them – and yet, he found, he could not entirely stop thinking of her, and for every occasion upon which he managed to put her out of his head, there were half a dozen more where thoughts of her preyed upon him for hours.

Perhaps, he began to think, Nagini was correct. Perhaps the best thing to do would, indeed, be to take her to bed. She could be satisfied, and he could be reminded of why he had abstained from relations with women.

He waylaid her after a meeting – a simple task, for she often lingered as the men filtered out. It was easy to catch her eye, and almost as easy to say, "Stay."

"My Lord?" Bellatrix said, when the last of the other Death Eaters were gone. "Is there something you wished to speak to me about?"

"There is." He rose from his seat and moved towards her. She did not draw back in fear, as most – even his most faithful men – would have done. She only stood straight and kept her eyes respectfully lowered.

"What is it, my Lord?"

"Your… interest in me."

Bellatrix looked up sharply. "My Lord?"

"There is no need to deny it. I know quite well the way you think of me."

She swallowed, the blood draining from her face. "My Lord, I- I apologize- I never meant disrespect by my thoughts; I only wish to be yours in every way–"

"I understand," he told her, though he didn't. "And," he continued, "I am willing to… indulge."

Bellatrix opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She stood for a long moment, gaping at him with a most unflattering look of shock on her face.

"You… are willing to indulge?" she echoed. "You mean that you- you are- you and I–"

He gave a brief nod of assent, though already he was doubting the wisdom of this idea. She was no different from any other man or woman, reduced to a stammering imbecile by the mere _idea_ of sex.

"Now?"

"Yes." He wanted it over quickly now. There was no need to draw it out.

"It is such an honour," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

There was nothing honourable about it. Sex was a messy, ugly process, one that obsessed a discomforting number of people, and there was no honour in partaking in it, no matter who one happened to be doing it with.

Bellatrix pushed her mouth against his, attaching herself to him as tenaciously as a leech, and with even less finesse. He moved his hands mechanically over her body – waist, hips, backside, breasts – and she moaned against his lips as if already overwhelmed with delight. Her eyes were gleaming with the same crazed look that she took on when she was holding the Cruciatus curse on someone. "_Hard_, Master. Take me hard… rough… _hurt me_."

Another baffling request – though he supposed that he should not have been surprised. _He_ would never have wanted to experience pain as well as the indignity of engaging in sex, but he was very, very different from Bellatrix.

So he lifted her and slammed her against the wall, hard enough to hurt, and she moaned and clutched at him and dragged her nails down his back.

"Stop," he ordered, pushing her hands away, but far from being contrite, she smiled and her eyes gleamed.

"Whatever you wish, my Lord," she breathed – a mockery of the way she spoke to him in meetings. Her words signified submission, but the way she smirked up at him was anything but obedient.

Perhaps this had been a mistake – indeed, surely it had; what had he been thinking when he allowed Bellatrix to touch him? – but he was not devoid of physical desires, despite how he wished he was, and the thought of having to stop _now_ stirred a primal urge within him.

He would be quick.

Bellatrix had her legs around him already, and her skirt pushed aside so only the fabric of his robes separated them, and she was pressed to him so closely that he could feel her every ragged breath, every beat of her heart.

He held her in place against the wall with one hand, ensuring that she could not buck or squirm and make the whole process even less convenient than it already was, and reached between them, almost shuddering at the feeling of her skin – soft and damp and _warm_ against his hand.

"Master… Master…"

He thought of ordering her silent, but her whimpering was keeping her occupied, keeping her lost in her fantasy while he struggled to insert himself into her while touching her bare skin as little as possible.

When he managed at last, and sank deeply into her, she all but sobbed, and a rough groan was torn from his own throat. There was pleasure to it; that was undeniable – the warmth and wetness and softness that had been so repulsive against his hand felt far better around his cock. Now that he was inside her, there was even a certain pleasure to feeling Bellatrix shudder, for now he could sense her helplessness in the face of those physical reactions. Eliciting _any_ reaction that she could not help but show was pleasing in its own way.

His body seemed to have taken on a will of its own. It wanted him to thrust desperately against Bellatrix, to scrabble at her and touch her skin and kiss her until her lips bruised. It took all the self-control he had not to show that he was being possessed by such feelings, and even with all his self-control, he could still not entirely stop himself from shivering every time she rolled her hips against his. His skin seemed far too sensitive, every nerve alight, and all his other senses dulled. He couldn't see much of anything except Bellatrix in front of him, and the wall behind her, and all he could hear was the rushing of blood in his ears and Bellatrix's desperate whimpering.

And with every passing moment, he felt more and more as if he was not in control of his movements. Another slight moan was torn from his own lips when Bellatrix's hands found the small of his back and she pressed him into her.

An immense shudder ran through his body, and his limbs jerked and twitched as violently as if he was under the Cruciatus curse, but he felt no pain, only a surge of pleasure deep inside himself. For a moment, he had no thoughts of indignity or disgust, or of anything _at all_.

Then the feeling dissipated, and he was slumped against Bellatrix, his breath coming in gasps, and a feeling of sickness replacing pleasure in his stomach.

"Master?" Bellatrix's voice was thin and tremulous. "Master, did I please you?"

He moved away from her quickly, all the revulsion that he had held for her body coming back to him. She looked a mess now, standing as she was against the wall, flushed and dishevelled, lips swollen, skirt half-lifted around her shaking legs. He doubted he looked much better.

"It was much as I expected it to be," he told her – a blatant lie, for it was _nothing_ like he had expected, but it freed him from being required to tell Bellatrix anything about the sensations that she had elicited.

"You may go," he added, when she looked as if she wanted to linger.

"You… you do not wish me to stay?"

"I certainly do not."

Bellatrix looked crestfallen, but she ducked her head quickly, and straightened her skirts, then backed away, towards the door. She gave him one last glance, and opened her mouth, but closed it quickly and exited without another word, much to his relief.

He sank back into a chair and closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. It seemed that the experience should not have been as exerting as it was – he had, after all, only been standing against a wall, moving very little, and yet he felt exhausted.

_Are you satisfied, Master?_ Nagini hissed, and he felt her scales brush against his hand. Cool, dry, and firm; entirely unlike Bellatrix's flesh. _Was that enough to convince you that sex is the domain of the weak of mind?_

"Certainly it was," he told her, but that answer was half-hearted.

More than ever, he was convinced that sex was a foolish practice, which put one at one's very most vulnerable. Not since he was a child had he felt so weak, so out of control, as he had then, while inside Bellatrix. And yet, he was loathe to think of it as something only desired or practiced by those who knew no better, for that brief moment of ecstasy, in which he had been able to think of _nothing at all_ had very nearly been worth the trouble.

Had he not been so unwilling to put himself through the rest of the indecency, he might not have sent Bellatrix away. Had he not been so unwilling to put himself through the rest of the indecency, he might have been as immediately and entirely consumed with desire for sex as any other man.

)O(

_Fin_


End file.
